


Fighting For

by the_mixed_up_files_of_me



Category: Conviction (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Police AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8955199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_mixed_up_files_of_me/pseuds/the_mixed_up_files_of_me
Summary: "You deserve to be fought for."





	1. 1

"That was reckless."

Hayes crosses her legs, folds her arms. She meets Captain Carmichael's eyes squarely, not a hint of remorse reflected in her gaze. Hayes cooly replies, "Are you going to pitch me the speech about safety again? Because I have heard it a dozen times."

Carmichael laughs but it's entirely unamused. His fingers neatly intertwine on his desk, he shifts in his leather chair. "Officer Morrison, we're moving you to another precinct in New York."

Out of all things Hayes imagined him saying to her, this is not it. Her relaxed demeanour rattles, shaken by this announcement. "Why New York, Sir?"

"We don't need you here anymore in Chicago. You're a liability and frankly, the board decided they couldn't handle you on their hands anymore. They wanted to take your badge away. Getting them to move you was the best thing I could do."

A beat. Hayes never dealt with rejection before. It's an unfamiliar and unusual sensation. Her pulse quickens, a wave of disbelief washing over her mind. She begins to speak but her voice sounds thick. She clears her throat multiple times before saying, "I don't...want to go to New York."

"You don't have a say in this, Morrison."

 _I'm pathetic_ , she muses. _If they don't want me here, I don't want them_. She smothers her insecurities by brushing it off with a tilt of her lips. "Fine," she replies, forcing her tone to sound cocky and light. "I've always wanted to go to New York, now I have an excuse."

"Morrison---"

"It's fine, really." She stands up, ready to walk away from this precinct, from Carmichael. Ready to walk away from her life here in Chicago. It isn't the first time she has been uprooted and moved around without a say in matters. Hayes is an extremely well-adjusted woman when it comes to change. She shakes off her doubts with a simple nod of her head at Captain Carmichael before spinning on her heel and leaving him. He tries to say something more but Hayes is in no mood to listen or stay. The air is growing too warm in there.

With each step on the pavement, Hayes gathers herself and her thoughts. New York. _It's hard to imagine living anywhere else_. Hayes doesn't want to leave but what choice does she have? They don't want her and Hayes is not a woman that pursues something that doesn't want her. She shoves aside her wound up knot of rejection and anxiety of the unknown. It's not like she didn't have it coming; what she did was reckless. If it wasn't for her pride, perhaps Hayes would have apologised and begged for mercy back in his office. Her ego is far too inflated to stoop to that level. Her slip up of begging to stay in that one brief moment with Carmichael was far more than she had wanted to show.

If Hayes knew how to process rejection and a large lifestyle change in a healthy manner, she would have curled up on her couch and eaten ice cream while watching television and letting herself wallow. Or she'd have said goodbye to the few friends she had managed to make in Chicago.

Instead, she gets up and does her damn job, for better or for worse. She packs her bags and boards the next flight to New York, without a single fleeting look back at her old life.

|||||

New York City' heartbeat is far different from Chicago's. Hayes almost calls her mother to ask for help to get settled but pride stands in the way. She doesn't let her homesickness or longing to be back in a familiar environment overwhelm her; she brushes it off as though it were mere dust and pushes forward.

The New York precinct is different from Chicago's as well. Hayes realises this the second she steps foot inside her new workplace. The atmosphere is more clipped, professional. Officers mill about, pushing past her as though she is invisible. Hayes, unaccustomed to not being the centre of attention and unsure where to go, is relieved to see a woman in a navy uniform approach her.

"I'm Captain Maxine Bohen. You are the transfer?"

"Hayes Morrison," she replies hastily, to cover over any sign of confusion. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. Her defence shields are activated, her cool confidence in full effect. Maxine, equally unemotional and expressionless, leads her into her office and shuts the door.

For the second time that week, Hayes is standing on the other side of a Captain's desk. Hayes can already tell that Maxine Bohen is a woman who was not to be taken lightly. Maxine critically slides her eyes across Hayes before sitting down behind her desk.

"I read your record," Maxine announces.

Hayes doesn't bat an eyelash, her expression doesn't flicker. "And?"

"You're reckless. Rogue. You do what you want with little regard for your fellow officers."

The words are intended to be an insult, intended to break her down. They don't. A thrill runs through Hayes' veins as it always does when she's being challenged. Reckless. Rogue. Most would view that as degrading; Hayes views it as a compliment.

"You will play by our rules here, do as I say. I am more than happy to fire you at any moment." Maxine reclines back slightly, almost arrogant. She has the power, she has the control. She holds the string with Hayes attached.

Hayes exhales slowly, trying to gauge just how dangerously close to the edge she can take this. Her mind clicks through various possibilities of replies. Before any can leave her lips, Maxine stands up and directs her into the conference area, walking directly behind her so Hayes' can not make an escape. 

Hayes is the centre of attention once more, the moment she walks into the room. Every police officer's eyes raise to her, trying to access the newest addition. Hayes gives no indication of noticing their existence. She slides into a hard metal chair, her eyes fully trained on Maxine, blocking out everyone else.

"We have a new officer with us, from Chicago," Maxine pleasantly says, "Hayes Morrison will be joining us. We warmly welcome her to our station. I am positive that she will prove to benefit the NYPD."

This is a lie and Hayes knows it. Hayes smothers the urge to roll her eyes; Maxine's friendly tone is entirely fake. She may be smiling but her eyes shoot daggers at Hayes. Hayes examines her nails, publicly showing her disinterest. She doesn't care what anyone thinks of her and wants that to be well known. She already hears the whispers around her, the curiosity of the officer's turning into displeasure.

Hayes ignores them; backstabbing is common with a personality like her's. She does what she knows best; pay no attention to it. She doesn't need their approval, it means nothing to her. Hayes repeats this fact over and over in her brain, like a record. She lifts her head, folds her arms across her chest, doesn't let a flicker of intimidation show.

The facade is comfortable, familiar.

|||||

Hayes props her feet up on her desk, on top of the paperwork she is assigned to do. Her fingers massage her neck, still sore from her last case. Throbbing pain coursed down her neck and shoulder with every movement of her fingers. Carmichael hadn't known that she was injured during the case and Hayes had wanted to keep it that way. He was always warning her that she'd get hurt doing reckless things and she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction of seeing her suffer the consequences. She resignedly drops her hand when she sees Maxine look over; it won't take Maxine long to realise Hayes is technically out-of-action. Hayes does want to work; it's an escapism from the uncertainty of her personal life. Hayes shoves aside the pain and resumes the copious paperwork, to prove to Maxine that she is perfectly fine.

"She already knows," a voice behind her says. It's smooth and low, a voice that makes Hayes stop working. She turns around. His crystal blue eyes catch her's, hold onto them. He moves towards her, gauging her expression.

"Who the hell are you?" Hayes doesn't sound as aggressive as she wants to.

"Officer Wallace. Call me Conner." He towers over her. "I know, you're Hayes. There no need for an introduction."

Hayes stands up to be at eye level, immediately sensing his power play. It radiates off of him; the edge of cocky all-knowingness. Hayes tilts her head, sliding into an intellectual position that she always enjoys; a battle of superiority. She knows him, she knows his kind.

"Nice to meet you," Hayes smiles at him, poisonously sweet and heavenly toxic.

His eyes dart to her soft, full lips a second before capturing her eyes again. "All absence of the word nice, I assume?"

"Well," Hayes replies, "You're not wrong."

His lips twitch into a ghost of a smirk. He's enjoying this, Hayes can tell.

"For the record, Hayes, I don't think you're cute so don't try to get an attitude with me. I read your record, you're a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe that's why Captain Bohen asked me to keep an eye on you." He pauses, waiting for a reaction, looking for a reply. Hayes bristles at this; it's not like supervision is unexpected for Hayes. Maxine seems the type to do something like this. But of all people, _him_?

"Oh, you couldn't handle me," Hayes retorts, a warm flush rushing into her cheeks. Her spark of indignation is lit, ready to detonate. Hayes wants to snap at him, push his words back into his face.

She's too curious to resist as he sets his hand on her neck and presses his fingers against her sore muscles. The pain jolts her from her swirl of angry thoughts as she retracts from his hand. His look of superiority, smooth and controlled arrogance makes every nerve in her body tingle, her skin still warm from his touch.

"You probably should get that checked out," is all Conner says, offhandedly and relaxed. He doesn't view her as enough of a threat, doesn't even view her as a permanent member of the station. Hayes doesnt want that, she shudders at the idea; she wants him to know what she's capable of, she wants to prove that she can do anything he can do and in high heels.

Her mission shifts, her goal changes as she watches him walk away.


	2. 2

Hayes doesn't know why she's become so obsessed with provoking Conner.

Every nerve in her body, every inch of her skin tingles when he is in the same room with her. Had he ignored her, made a cocky comment and moved on, she would have let it go. It wasn't as though she hasn't dealt with difficult people before.

He always gives it back it at her but not the way she expects. He makes no move to belittle her; rather, he challenges her. She makes a snappy comment, he pushes back with an equally quick and sharp reply.

It doesn't take Hayes long to realise that he's not like the other men.

At least it provides her with mental alleviation from the stress of a new city. New York City is an ocean and Hayes is barely keeping her head above water. Everything in New York is on fast forward; the sights, the people, the time. Hayes is briefly tempted to call her mother but her well-nurtured sense of pride gets the better of her. Maxine pays as little attention to her as she can, just throwing endless paperwork on Hayes' desk. The other officers keep their distance, they don't know what to make of her and Hayes knows it.

One person gives her the time of day and it both captivates and irritates her to death all at once.

Maxine calls Hayes and Conner into her office. Hayes knows immediately that what Maxine has to say, she isn't going to like. Conner, ever calm, ever confident, stands close. Too close. Hayes exhales slowly to repress the hot sensation of annoyance.

"I have a case for you," Maxine informs them. She looks Hayes up and down briefly before continuing. "Wallace, Morrison, I want you both to handle a drug case. Nothing that you probably haven't handled before."

"Together?" It's pointless to protest but Hayes gives it a shot. "Really?"

Maxine takes more pleasure in her reply than Hayes can stomach. "Yes, together. Do you have a problem with that, Wallace?"

Hayes can feel him look over at her. His stare is searing on her skin. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of making eye contact, she keeps her gaze fixated on the wall. She can practically feel the smirk in his voice. "None at all."

"Excellent." Maxine smiles at him, her class pet. "I want you both to go undercover. Get a feel of the situation. The lab made up two identities for you both. Wealthy husband and wife, pretending to consider to fund the cartel. You'll stay at the hotel across the street so you can keep an eye on the cartel."

For a split second, Conner's facade does fracture. Out of the corner of her eye, Hayes sees him shift from one foot to the other, clearing his throat. His discomfort is almost enough to pacify her disbelief over the situation. "Husband and wife?" he presses.

Maxine arches an eyebrow critically. "Something wrong, Wallace?"

"Of course not." Hayes' lips tilt upwards slightly at the tense edge in his voice. It almost quells her utter displeasure; almost but not quite. The entire reason Maxine assigned them to this case together is to test their patience; Conner knows this, Hayes knows this. She clenches her jaw slightly, finally daring a look over at Conner. His facade is in full effect again, irritatingly enough. A cool aloofness that she doesn't know how to break down and has a feeling that she never will be able to.

Arguing with Maxine is pointless. Hayes can tell. She just gives her one final, fleeting stare before spinning around, striding away from Conner and Maxine. It's not as though she hasn't done cases with difficult people before but to have to work hand in hand with Conner---quite literally---sends a ball of apprehension settling in her stomach. Her sore neck throbs; Hayes distractedly rubs it as she returns to her desk.

 _Perhaps this won't be so bad_ , she tries to reason with herself. _It'll give me plenty of time to irritate him_. The idea of that causes the knots inside of herself to loosen and a wave of amusement to come over herself.

She makes the mistake of inciting eye contact with Conner as he steps out of Maxine's office; he holds her eyes in constricting eye lock, just long enough to drain the oxygen from her lungs. He turns, dropping her gaze after what feels like eternity. Hayes crashes, snapping back into her reality.

She doesn't see him the rest of the day and finds herself growing a bit bored.

|||||

"Don't you look lovely." The compliment may be genuine but it's disguised by Conner's voice which is heavy in sarcasm. Hayes gives him a glacial look. She slams the passenger door shut, trying to keep the hem of her long skirt from being caught. She hates long dresses; they are like flashbacks to her childhood and adolescence. Her mother used to make her wear these ridiculous dresses everywhere, much against her will. Hayes tries to remind herself that it's Cassandra Evans, her new identity, wearing the dress, not Hayes Morrison. While Hayes would rather choke, Cassandra wears dresses and pearls everywhere, no matter what.

Conner pulls the expensive car out of the parking space, into the busy streets of New York. Hayes can't help but envy his utter ease in navigating this swirling city. She does her best to smother her anxiety throughout the drive. People, bicycles, cars, pets...they all seem to appear unexpectedly and quickly.

"You'll get used to it," Conner says abruptly, startling Hayes. She wonders if her expression is that discernible. He sounds entirely honest. There is no hidden agenda behind his words. She doesn't answer, doesn't have to. He isn't expecting one.

Hayes evens out her lipstick as Conner turns the car into a backstreet. The reassuring pressure of her gun strapped to her thigh keeps her steady. These people, whomever they are, are going to be dangerous and fast. One wrong move and they'd be packed up and gone before morning.

The car comes to a halt outside a seemingly abandoned factory. Hayes inhales slowly. _Cassandra Evans. And my husband Jonathan_. It sounds weird in her head. Hayes decides not to dwell on it. Conner opens the car door for her, extending his hand. Hayes Morrison would have batted his hand away and gotten out on her own. Cassandra Evans, however, accepts his invitation, wrapping her arm snugly in his. It's more comfortable, walking arm-in-arm with him than Hayes will ever care to admit. She focuses on the sound of her high heels clicking on pavement as they approach. The abandoned factory is only in disarray on the outside; inside is a fully thriving and functional city.

The labs made up rock solid identities for them; Hayes and Conner are let in almost at once. As Hayes follows Conner and an intimating guardsman---presumably dealer---she isn't entirely ungrateful for how tightly Conner has her arm around his. Her free hand subconsciously drops down, near the gun on her thigh.

The man in charge is easy to spot; he has an easygoing presence about him. The type of man that assumes everyone wants to be his friend and that the world will bend to his every desire. He smiles warmly at Hayes and Conner as they are lead into his large office.

"Names?"

"Jonathan Evans. This is my wife Cassandra." Conner's lips twitch slightly as he tilts his head at her. Hayes dazzles him with a toxically sweet smile in return.

"How sweet," the man says, chirpy. "Where are you staying?"

"The hotel across the way. It's not easy to find a place around here that's...low profile, if you know what I mean." Hayes lets go of Conner's arm, drifting over the man's desk. Perching herself on top, she offers him a sultry and silky gaze. It works.

"I'm Nicolas." His stare barely leaves Hayes and her low cut dress. It doesn't take long for Hayes to decide quickly that she has had enough of that; she hops off of the desk, sliding her way over to Conner. She can't resist smoothing down the lapels of his expensive suit, adjusting his tie. It's unprofessional to tick him off like this but her adrenaline is pulsating, riling up her urge for trouble. Conner doesn't look down at her but she sees his expression shift as her fingers linger on his chest.

Nicolas finally brings himself around to inquiring as to why they are there. He sits back in his cushioned chair, hands neatly clasped on his knee.

"We want in." Conner's arm encircles her waist, firm and taut. He's pressing every one of her buttons; every advance she shoves at him to rattle him, he's shoves right back. To any onlooker, their behaviour is nothing more than two married people who can't keep their hands off of each other. Her blood hums, mind working overtime trying to see just how far they'll push each other.

"On?"

"We'll fund you. We want in on this cartel," Hayes says, coyly biting her lip, her large brown eyes reflecting feigned admiration at Nicolas from under their long lashes. "We're quite impressed by your business and you would be an investment worth making."

"You can think about it. We'll come by again tomorrow," Conner adds. "You won't be disappointed, I can assure you."

Hayes waits for Nicolas' reply with tightness in her chest; the majority of their operation rides on this. He stares at them stoically for an achingly long moment before smiling at them, peppily.

"Come by tomorrow night, we'll talk things through further."

|||||

"What the hell were you doing back there?" Conner snaps the moment they're alone in the hotel room. Hayes rips the fancy jewellery and coat off, casting it aside on a table. Her neck throbs and she massages it absentmindedly. She spins around to face him; he's standing closer than she anticipated.

"You push me, I push back." Hayes sets her jaw, firm and unaffected. Conner blinks, his chest rising and falling methodically. "Don't act like you weren't pressing my buttons on purpose."

"You haven't even seen the start of it, Morrison."

"I'm looking forward to it," Hayes bites back, impulsively, her cheeks flushing. It isn't until she says it that she realises how flirtatious she may have sounded. She bridles slightly, but doesn't back down. Her hand leaves her neck, folding onto her hips.

His lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. "You're real cute, Morrison."

"I know." Sweetly, sexily, dangerously.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this! Thank you all for your support and comments, they mean the world to me. I hope you all enjoy this final chapter. Xx

Hayes rolls over in the sheets, a chill running over her body. The thin sheets provide little warmth, her negligée even less. Her vision adjusts to the darkness as she holds her watch in front of her face; four thirty. Sleep is a pointless idea, her mind is already fully awake. Her feet touch the cold floor as she gets up, wandering to the window. Pulling back the curtains, she has a clear view of the factory. The building is dark, not a light to be seen. Hayes rests her forehead against the pane, looking out at the vibrant city surrounding it. Adjusting to this all is overwhelming. Hayes steadies herself, inhaling deeply. Someone to lean on is a luxury she wishes she can afford. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, she leans against the window frame, lost in thought. Crossing the room, she dresses quickly.

A knock startles her as she ties her choker necklace. Instinctively moving towards her gun that she concealed under in her bedside drawer, she approaches the door with caution, opening it a sliver. She exhales in relief at the sight of Conner as her fingers hastily unlock the door. Company, even his, is welcome. She asks what prompted by his visit immediately.

A beat. Conner shrugs, offhand and casual. "I thought you'd be awake."

Hayes didn't deliberate how he knew this; she highly suspected that Conner could see straight through her facade of being adjusted and anything would be better than that. Hayes stilled her features, not willing to give away anything. Maybe it's the fact she's tired or the quiet edge in his voice, but she can feel her tense muscles relaxing. His eyes, deep blue and reflective, meet her's. Hayes pulls back, pulls herself away from his searching stare. Turning back towards the window, she trains her focus onto the city, ignoring the sensation of his presence over her shoulder. More of a reflex than a reaction, her breath hitches in her chest. A hum fills the room, fills the air. Her pulse quickens involuntarily.

"What do you want?"

Conner's question comes out of nowhere. Hayes spins around to face him. "Excuse me?"

"What do you want from work? The city?" Conner's query is harmless but Hayes can't help but feel as though she's having her skills challenged. Not giving into his ever deepening gaze, she arches her neck. Cool, confident. Unthreatened. The hum in the air is growing, simmering beneath her skin. She resists the urge to roll her shoulders to shake off the feeling.

"I want to right the wrongs, fight the power, stick it to the man." Hayes rolls the words off of her tongue with surprising ease, as if it was etched into her mind beforehand. She sees a shift in his features, barely noticeable but just enough to make her feel a warm wave of satisfaction.

"You're a pain to deal with." Simple, straightforward. Hayes hates the way he glances down at her lips and she hates even more how much she enjoys it. Continuing, he says, "And for the record, I do find you incredibly sexy."

The hum, the pulsating energy, bursts. He catches her; of course he does. Hayes wouldn't have expected any less. Lifts her back onto her feet, holds her up with his sturdy arms as she shoves an intense kiss onto his lips. Her balance regained, his fingers brush against her throat as he unties her complicated necklace. Slow and deliberate. This is a bad idea, Hayes knows it, Conner knows it. Workmates at the NYPD are professionals, Maxine had strictly said a thousand times. Hayes swallows, her head spinning, permitting herself into the pressure of his kiss again. His hand rakes through her brunette locks, pulling her closer until all she feels is her starving need for attention, the dull ache in her chest finally releasing its painful grasp. His forearms lock around her, lifting her onto the windowsill, pressing her against the cool glass pane.

Gunshots, the crack and pop of the bullets leaving their shells, echoes outside, springing the two off of each other instinctually. Lingering, thinking twice, even a second of hesitation can't be afforded. Hayes grasps her gun, tosses a spare to Conner and does the only thing she knows best.

She does her damn job.

Without consulting him, without an action plan at all, Hayes follows the crackle of the gunshots outside. The lights are still out at the warehouse and the gunshots sound like they were somewhere further away, near the pier. Leftover adrenaline from the kiss has her fingers trembling on the trigger of her loaded gun; she takes a cleansing breath, trying to unwind the tension that's building up inside of herself. Conner's frame, hovering closely behind her does not help to unwind the knot of tension. His hand tightens around her arm, pulling her aside into the shadows of the warehouse outer wall.

"You cannot be impulsive about this. We have to coordinate."

"Oh screw that." Hayes snaps, wishing with a raging longing that he wasn't standing so close. Even in almost complete darkness, his dense blue pierce into her's as clear as daybreak. Hayes licks her dry lips. "We'll be fine."

"We need backup." Always the voice of logic.

"We'll. Be. Fine." Hayes pushes away. She isn't afraid, not not guns or danger. She thrives off of it, it it something that pulls at every string in her body and she loves it. She ignores Conner's sharp, quick warning as she quickens her pace, gun poised, following the sound of the gunshots.

There's at least ten men laging motionless on the wide wood planks of the pier when Hayes tracks it down. For a moment, she's glad it's dark; to see that much blood is never easy, even for professionals. Conner is tightly following her and with a flash, she feels remarkably secure. Almost comforted by that fact. Perhaps a partner to work with can be a bit better than flying solo. Refusing to let herself think about it anymore, Hayes points her gun sharply on the man standing at the edge of the pier.

"NYPD, put your hands in the air." Its an adjustment for her to say that, instead of her Chicago station. It's comfortable though; it rolls off her tongue easily and, much to her surprise, naturally.

The man freezes a split second before dropping a large bag at his feet and swinging his gun upwards, training it directly at Hayes. Coldness drills down her spine, urgent and fast. The adrenaline rush she grows from sends a tingle down every single nerve. Looking danger, looking death in the face doesn't scare her; she's addicted to it, in her own twisted way.

"Alright, calm down." Conner's voice, calm and steady, echoes behind her. "Lower your weapon and we'll lower ours." His steps, slow and deliberate, come up behind Hayes. His one hand touches her lower back for a second, a brief and unspoken reassurance. Holding her gun still, she exhales, not taking her eyes off of the black, glinting metal in the other man's hand. 

At a creeping pace, the man puts his gun on the pier and draws closer to them. Hayes lowers her gun, her pulse slowing to a consistent beat. He comes so close, she sees the reflection of the water in his eyes. The exact water that her body meets as he grasps her waist and throws her over the pier.

It's freezing cold, shocking to her system on initial impact. Her lungs burn inside of her chest as the complete darkness encircles her. No light gives away the sign of which direction the surface is; digging her fingers into the oppressive dark walls of water around her, a different darkness altogether begins to sink in. Strength saps from her arms and legs, her lungs heaving at the airless world surrounding her.

And her world goes a shade darker.

And her world goes a shade brighter.

Bright white, blinding and glaring. Hayes blinks, the blurred white shadows turning to shapes as her eyes adjust. Ceiling tiles come into view, the sharp sent of saline and rubbing alcohol infuse her senses. Hayes lifts her head, overcome quickly by the feeling of her neck going into spasms. Leaning her head back into the cool, soft pillow, Hayes tries to get her bearings again.

"How do you feel?" Conner's voice, low and inviting, causes Hayes to sit up, much too quickly. A dizzy spell overcomes her; before she can crash back against the pillows yet again, the pressure of his hand against her back catches her.

Hayes looks up at him more steadily, the spell dissipating. "What the hell happened?"

"You caught their drug supplier. After he pushed you, I may have shot him in the leg. You know, just to keep him from running." Despite the brevity in his tone, his eyes tell a much different story; concern fills them, concern for her. The simmer hums again under her skin; just how far does she want to go with this, with him? The kiss means something, despite what she tells herself.

Hayes takes a deep breath and motions for him to sit down on the bed with her. He does, the warmth of his body heating her's. It's comfortable, it's relaxing. No tension, no feelings of trepidation that usually come when Hayes feels close to someone, happen. The tension is gone, the tightness in her muscles smooths out. Lightness, airiness, fills her bloodstream, increasing with each beat of her heart.

"So the case, it's done?" Hayes tilts her head.

He nods. "Looks like you aren't stuck working with me anymore."

Hayes sucks in a breath, a coy smile twisting her lips. "I don't know...that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." Conner's slight indication of interest encourages her to go on, "I wouldn't mind a partner to defeat crime with...I don't think I can do it alone."

Her last statement hangs in the air, difficult to admit but a relief to say. The warmth of his hands wrapping around her's sends a rush into her system, an intoxicating rush that she wouldn't give away for the world.

"I could really use one too." His fingers tighten around her's, tangling themselves around each other.

"I'm not saying it would be easy," Hayes continues, "I mean, I will most certainly jump on everything you say. And go in places without backup. And do a lot of things that adrenaline addicts do..." A beat. A smirk. Her cards are on the table, her terms and conditions are set. "You're going to have to fight for me, Conner Wallace. You up for the challenge?"

He knows what he's agreeing to, he knows that he wouldn't have it any other way. "You deserve to be fought for."


End file.
